The Desperado paused, then turned to walk away, heading downstairs. As if taking the command as suitable for everyone present, others sat. They didn’t sit happily. Tension and anger leaked in. This warm, cozy building with whole logs forming the walls, soft light, and heat from wood stoves and fireplaces had been a safe space, and that space had been exploited.

They still obeyed, as angry as they were. Little Midas had clout.

The conversation didn’t pick up immediately.

“Clear out,” Semiramis said, turning her head to look at her people in the booth behind her. “Give us more space. Protect the Old Man.”

People in the booths around us stood. They walked away. One table of people was sitting close, and the departing henchmen indicated for them to relocate. They did.

We were surrounded now by empty booths and tables. Some people crowded in the corners of the room, leaning in close to talk to one another and either commiserate or conspire. The light that came in through the small windows by each table cast long shadows and made faces bright on one side and darker on others. By contrast, the light from the backlit bar was diffuse.

“Can they be trusted?” Sveta asked.

“Mine won’t talk,” Semiramis said. “I can’t speak for Midas’s.”

“I keep mine distracted with blood and circuses,” Little Midas said. He giggled. More seriously, he said, “If you resolve this soon then you shouldn’t need to worry. Take too long… they’ll get to it.”

“We’re making it a priority,” I said.

“Blugh,” Tattletale made a sound, looking at her drink. “I’m caught between having no appetite and really wishing I could get a drink or a bite of something to get this bad taste out of my mouth, except I know I won’t feel good about eating anything until we’re fifty miles from here.”

Okay, well, maybe Sveta and I were making it a priority.

“Tell me more about what this man does. What kind of link does he make?” Semiramis asked.

“Right to business,” Tattletale said. “Not that I’m not curious.”

I wracked my brain. I’d read the file a dozen times, but the last time was a year ago. “When he slept, if people he was linked to were sleeping at the same time, he’d get their memories from the day. Vague, not complete memories, but enough to piece most things together. It gave him other advantages, an instinctive knowledge of how people would react or respond, after he slept. Made it more effective if he went after them, presumably, but he was careful, favored sending people instead of going himself, or attacking them in subtler ways.”

“That sounds awfully familiar as an M.O.,” Tattletale murmured.

I nodded. “It is. He’s in a rare class of parahuman who could pull off something like this, given a chance.”